


Little Deaths

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A little bit of fluff, Anal Sex, Angst, Brainwashing, Bucky's Broken Dick, Erectile Dysfunction, Forced Orgasm, Fucking Machines, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Other, Sexual Dysfunction, very little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 23:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3359186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>HYDRA's breaking of Bucky Barnes didn't happen solely through pain, but also reward.  Years later, that makes things awkward between him and Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Deaths

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at [HYDRA trash party](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1504.html?thread=1583840#cmt1583840).

_"It feels good." "Keep going." "Steve, I want you to, please."_

Bucky's smile at Steve was genuine, his kiss utterly sincere, and he had wanted Steve to fuck him. Steve wasn't brutal but didn't treat Bucky like he was made of glass either. He was considerate, solid, warm, and enthusiastic, kissing Bucky all over like every inch of him was wonderful and worthy. And Bucky _did_ like feeling Steve inside him, the heat and stretch and more importantly the closeness and feeling Steve lose control made him feel wanted and desirable.

Which had made Steve going for a reach-around only to find Bucky limp and dangling, his soft cock bouncing between his thighs in rhythm to Steve's thrusts intensely awkward.

Steve had paused, balls-deep, and even without turning around Bucky knew Steve was flushing red with embarrassment. And for the first time since they'd gotten back together, Bucky was the one to offer a boatload of assurances.

 _"It's all right, you feel great." "Steve, don't worry, it's nothing about you." "Sex wasn't really a thing while I was with HYDRA. I love you, you idiot, and that's what matters._ "

Bucky hated lying to Steve, but better that then the alternative. Not about his affections: he'd never cared about anyone the way he cared about Steve, but about the sex. No, no one from HYDRA had ever had sex with him. But that didn't mean they hadn't used it against him.

\--

Bucky had expected torture. After the stress of recovery from the fall and surgery hadn't made him as suggestible as they wanted, he expected bare rooms, horrible tools, more of the needles and hallucinations that had kick-started his personal horror show at Zola's hands. While he had woken strapped to a table with a bright light shining in his face, as expected, no one arrived to hurt him. 

Instead, Zola had arrived to talk. 

“HYDRA was built on the concept of order through any means. Order through pain,” he said meditatively, looking at Bucky strapped down on the table like he was a vaguely interesting insect. “And you will have to learn that order. But I think we can try something more effective than just lashing you until you break. I am a scientist; I experiment.”

Zola's little smile was chilling, and he nodded at his assistants to wheel over some contraption that arced over his groin. It was covered with sick, dangerously-looking protrusions, thick tubes, some kind of round sheath, and dangling electrodes.

“Now, we shall make our first attempt. What is your name?”

“James Buchanan Barnes-!” Bucky choked off his serial number into a scream as one of the techs at his head swung down the hated metal halo around his temples and turned it on. Screaming pain thrilled through his head, lightning dancing across his eyes, and his could feel his voice tearing through his throat in endless shrieks of pain.

It stopped, and Zola's was the first face he saw.

“You answered incorrectly. You do not have a name. You are The Asset. Now, what is my name?”

Bucky desperately tried to run through the facts of his life in his head, his name, hometown, parents' names, siblings' names, friends' names, teachers, priests, neighbors, and could feel the fringes of his life unraveling as names and places danced, elusive, on the tip of his tongue. Every time they used that halo on him, he remembered less and less. He couldn't stand the thought of losing another piece of himself.

So he didn't answer how he might have liked to, some smart-ass remark about Zola's name being “Potato Boy” or “Red Skull's Bitch” or anything else clever.

“Arnim Zola,” he said instead, with every ounce of contempt he could muster.

Zola smiled warmly. “You answered correctly, so you get a reward.”

He nodded to the techs, and the bizarre contraption swung into action. Fear had kept Bucky half-hard with pure adrenaline, and the thick sheath had no trouble sinking over his dick. It was warm, slick, beautifully snug, and as the techs taped electrodes down to his cock and balls, Bucky came fully erect. 

Then one of them flicked a switch. It felt like his orgasm exploded up out of him, every nerve lighting up in perfect sequence, sucking pressure and envelopment and touch and things he couldn't even name all going on at exactly the right time. Bucky's head went back as his body soared, coming and coming and coming and oh God, he _couldn't stop_. He barely cycled back down before he was coming again, harder and harder, his body boneless in between crippling bouts of pleasure. The protruding arm, slick with something wet, suddenly twisted low slid into Bucky's defenseless ass, and pressed on something inside him that brought his next orgasm to a shattering climax that lasted even longer. 

And they did it again, and again, and again, until Bucky was a limp rag, head lolling, body practically melting into the table, spent beyond words.

“What is your name?” a voice asked him.

He had to think about that for a long time. “B-Bucky,” he managed.

“That was wrong, your name is the Asset,” someone said patiently. “The Asset. You answered wrong, so you will get a punishment.”

Pain shrilled through Bucky's skull, but he was so limp, so exhausted, that he couldn't fight, could only endure as the lightning and terror ripped through him.

When it stopped, Bucky tried to reach for any fragments of himself, but felt them slipping through his fingers like sand.

“What is my name?” a voice asked. Bucky blinked, and saw a name tag a few inches in front of his eyes.

“Zola,” he read almost mindlessly, trying to find some equilibrium again.

“You answered correctly, Asset, so you get a reward.”

Waves of orgasms began to batter him again, surging pleasure rising to wash away the sand.

After the fifth round, he couldn't remember his sister's name.

After the tenth, he lost count of how many rounds they put him through.

Beyond that, things receded into the murky gray cloud of The Asset's mindless, obedient perfection, accepting the mouth-guard and chair when he didn't perform to expectations, the contraption when he did.

–

“Are you _sure_?” Steve asked for the eighty-fifth time. Bucky reached back to take Steve's hand and place it firmly on his hip.

“Yes,” he said, as unambiguously as possible. “I love watching you come apart. Come on, Steve.” And he smiled as Steve delved into his body, held him as he rocked inside him, whispered stupidly sappy sentimental things in his ear, and clenched tight when he felt Steve come, petting down his back.

“That was perfect,” Bucky whispered.

Perfect, because nothing Steve could do could even get him aroused. Perfect, because Bucky would never lose control. Perfect, because Bucky would never come. Steve couldn't possibly get him off, not with how his nerves had been trained by HYDRA's pleasure machines.

For him, orgasms could only come from those machines, and every orgasm was a little slice of death, a little more destruction of his sense of self.

“Are you-?”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Bucky insisted. Because he couldn't tell Steve that if he ever found a way to get him to come, he might as well follow it with a bullet to Bucky's brain. “That was perfect.”


End file.
